“What kind of agent?”
Bousikaris answered: “A stringer. One of yours from long ago, in fact: a Kashmiri named Sunil Dhar. He was approached about seven months ago by a broker for the Japanese Red Army. They were looking for some sarin nerve gas and knew Dhar had contacts in the Russian black arms market.”
“By contacts, I assume you mean former military,” said Cathermeier.
“Correct; Dhar hasn’t given up a name, but it’s probably someone in the rocket forces.”
It took all of Mason’s discipline to hold his tongue. A DIA controller handling a former CIA agent, who’s brokering a deal for a terrorist group … None of it fit.
“We’re aware of Dhar,” Mason said. “We’ve never taken any of his product at face value; he likes playing both ends against the middle. Without corroboration, I’d be skeptical of his information.”
Martin smiled. “Dick, I know it stings a little that you missed this, but nobody’s blaming—”
“Mr. President, with all due respect—”
“This is a team effort, Dick. Don’t forget that.”
“Sir, I’m not concerned about saving face. Sunil Dhar is—”
Bousikaris said, “We feel Dhar’s information is solid. Now that we’re aware of the problem, we need solutions. To that end, Director Redmond came up with a plan. Tom, if you would.”
“According to Dhar, his contact will have the sarin at the delivery point within the next seventeen to twenty days,” said Redmond. “He’ll have a more exact time as it nears.”
“That’s where we’ll need your help, Dick,” Bousikaris said. “We want you to coordinate with the DIA and make sure this is the real deal.”
“Where’s the delivery point?” asked Cathermeier.
“Russia. The Bay of Vrangel, the port of Nakhodka-Vostochny. The cargo is to be transferred to a ship called the Nahrut. Once the cargo’s aboard, the ship will be heading for Rumoi, Japan.”
Martin said, “That ship cannot be allowed to leave port.”
Suddenly Mason realized where this was going. “Why not take it while it’s at sea? Board the ship, secure the cargo, detain Dhar and his crew.”
“Too risky,” said Bousikaris. “More to the point, the Russian’s have been playing fast and loose too long with their weapons of mass destruction. It’s time to send them a message.”
“By sinking a ship in the middle of the Bay of Vrangel? It’s an act of war, Howard.”
“The target ship will be of Liberian registry. The Russian government won’t—”
“They won’t Care if it’s a rubber dinghy. If we attack it in Russian waters, they’ll retaliate.”
President Martin broke in. “They can’t retaliate if they have no proof. The plan Tom has developed will get the job done without leaving any footprints.”
Tom Redmond couldn’t plan a sandwich, Mason wanted to say, but the spook inside him told him to shut up and listen. “Okay,” he said, “Let’s hear it.”
Redmond spoke for ten minutes, outlining the plan from start to finish.
Cathermeier asked, “Who do you plan to put on the ground?”
Redmond told him. “It would be a small team. Four to six men.”
“Insertion method?”
“Submarine.”
There were a few seconds of silence as Cathermeier considered the plan. Finally he said, “Good plan, wrong scenario.”
“That’s a political issue,” Bousikaris said. “Let us worry about that.”
“You’re talking about putting armed men onto the soil of another country,” said Cathermeier. “Doing that under any circumstances is dicey, but doing it with shaky intel is—”
“General, what we need to know from you is, can you put it together? Is it feasible?”
“I need to run it by my J-3—”
“No. We’re keeping the loop tight on the operation. What’s your answer, General?”
“It’s feasible, but I have to tell you, I have serious misgivings about this.”
Mason said, “As do I.”
“Goddamnit!” Martin roared. “What—”
Bousikaris stepped forward, placed a restraining hand on Martin’s shoulder, and said, “Gentlemen, you’re cautiousness is appreciated, but the time for debate is over. Your commander-in-chief has given an order. If you can’t carry it out, say so now.”
The gauntlet was down, Mason realized. Whatever was happening here, it was serious enough that Martin was willing to end careers to get it done. Cathermeier would obey because he was duty bound to do so. As for himself, if he refused to go along, he’d be out, and while that in itself didn’t bother Mason, he wanted to know what Martin was up to. To do that, he had to stay.
“Mr. President, I’ve voiced my objections. That said, you give the order, I’ll do my part.”
Martin nodded, then looked to Cathermeier. “General?”
Cathermeier shrugged. “I’ll start the ball rolling.”
Tanner found Oaken in his office. Lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, filing cabinets, a map wall, and three computer workstations, this was Oaken’s second home, a fact to which his wife, Beverly, would readily attest.
Oblivious to Tanner’s entrance, Oaken reclined in his chair doodling on a yellow legal pad.
“Let me guess,” Tanner said, leaning on the doorjamb, “You’re planning an expedition to K2.”
Oaken looked up. “Huh?”
“Everest?”
“Very funny.”
Of the thousands of interests that occupied Oaken’s mind, outdoor adventure was not one of them. The closest he’d come to the wilderness in the past six months was watching Wild Kingdom reruns. “That Marlon Perkins guy has the right idea,” he’d told Tanner. “Letting that Jim guy do all the work. He doesn’t even wear shoes, did you know that? Talk about unsanitary …” From there the discussion had deteriorated into his musings about tetanus boosters and parasitic infections.
For all Oaken’s quirks and for their dissimilarities, Tanner considered himself lucky to not only have Walt on his side, but to also count him as a friend.
“Algebra,” Oaken replied. “Polynomials, sequences … It helps me clear my head.”
“Algebra helps you clear your head.”
“It’s concrete. The answer’s either right or wrong. It’s … refreshing. So, what’s up?”
“I’m wondering if you’re up to a little research project.”
Oaken’s eyes twinkled. “Have you ever known me not to be? What’s the topic?”
“Double agents.”
Since hearing about Soong’s contact, Tanner had been looking at Ledger with fresh eyes. Of the dozens of things that might have caused its failure, he kept returning to the same theory: Someone in his network had been either a double or an informant.
He’d spent much of his time in Beijing running counter-surveillance — following Soong before and after meetings, watching dead drops, staking out meeting places, setting up wave-off locations — Anything and everything that might force the hands of Guoanbu watchers. Nothing ever came of it.
That led him to two conclusions: One, Soong had in fact been under surveillance and he’d missed it; or two, someone was feeding the opposition, making surveillance unnecessary. Tanner realized there’d been only one agent in his network who could have given the Guoanbu that kind of information. Known only by his code name, Genoa had been what’s called a “block cutout.”
Unlike a “chain cutout”—a go-between who knows only the agent who recruited him — a block cutout knows not only the names of all the agents, but their meeting spots and dead drops as well. Moreover, Genoa had been a colleague of Soong’s. In his excitement, had Soong told Genoa the time and place of his final meeting with Tanner?